


R + E: Goodbye, Derry!

by Auggusst



Series: Stephen King's It Supercut [4]
Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bittersweet, Blood, Canon Typical Triggers, Deadlights, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fix-It, Fluff, IT Chapter Two Fix-It, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, M/M, Mourning, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), Reddie, basically the last 20 mins of the movie, in the deadlights, interpret it how you want, kind of ghost stanley, mourning stanley, r + e, soft losers, sprinkles of stenbrough and hanbrough, the kissing bridge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auggusst/pseuds/Auggusst
Summary: In the Deadlights, Richie Tozier has a conversation that changes his life, and the lives of his fellow Losers, for the better. Eddie and Richie get the new beginning they deserve.





	1. In the Deadlights

“_Yipee-kay yay, motherfuck—!_”

There was light—warm, yellow light, kind and happy, unlike the rapid contrast between harsh blue and black, blinding and threatening, obscuring more than it revealed. He couldn’t smell the damp anymore, the dirt, the scent of blood. He couldn’t feel the rush of fear, hear the steady pulse of danger, or his friends’ shrill voices. He couldn’t taste shit or bile, didn’t feel winded or lightheaded or scared out of his fucking mind. He couldn’t see the cave, couldn’t feel its walls or the ground beneath his feet tremble.

He couldn’t see the cave, because he wasn’t there.

Richie wasn’t There. He was Here, and Here was entirely different. He opened his eyes—Here looked a lot like the park by the Derry Standpipe, with too green grass and a big open clearing on one side, heading towards the road, and lush woods on the other, beyond the big round can that held the town’s water. The grass was kind of high; maybe it hadn’t been mowed in a week or so, but it was warm and sunny and nice. On one end of the park he could see the bird bath, round and polished, bigger than your average backyard bird bath but not massive. He could see the benches scattered around beneath rows of planted trees.

Bird songs filled the air, but Richie couldn’t see any birds. He couldn’t see other people, either. Even on a bad day there was usually a family or two milling about, or some kids sprawled out on the lawn doing and talking about god knows’ what, like the things they learned, the things they thought were bullshit, or the kids they liked or didn’t like, or how miserable their parents made them. Maybe some good chucks were passed around, shared with a cigarette, when there weren’t any adults around. Maybe the teens would come at night, with cheap bottles of alcohol pilfered from the general store or their dad’s offices, wrapped in paper bags, and drink ‘til they were warm and stupid and brave, until the Sheriff would come, making the rounds, and yell at them all to go home. At least, that’s how it all was when Richie was a kid.

_Was_ a kid. That was an interesting thought: He’d never seen the Standpipe as an adult.

But he was here now, right? He was, and he wasn’t. Nothing was different. It was exactly as he remembered it. The Standpipe would at least have some wear and tear, right? It had already stood for at least twenty years when Richie was a kid. Maybe the grass wouldn’t be as green. Maybe there’d be some dead spots from dog shit, or the road nearby would be repaved or replaced, or maybe there’d be some power lines running through the place to fuel some streetlights, some fancy little geriatric-looking bullshit that would make people stick around the place more.

There was none of that. It all _stood_, like it did back then, the metal structure large and blank and hollow against the tree line, imposing and irrelevant all at once.

Maybe this wasn’t Now. Well it _was_ Now, because he was Here, but that… that wasn’t right.

_‘Am I in the past?’ _Richie thought.

It took a minute, but Richie remembered he had a body. He lifted his glasses, brushed a hand over his eyes, but was startled as hell, because he wasn’t dirty. More than that—he wasn’t _himself_, not like he was a few moments ago. He was Richie Tozier in ’89, with feet too big and bony knees and stubborn wisps of hair at the crown of his head that he could never smooth down. The scrapes on the palms of his hands from climbing around were gone, and as was the dull throb in his knee from running more than he had in the past two decades. He felt _young_, felt good, and it was a mixture of unsettling and wonderful.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, unsurprised but uncomfortable when he heard his voice crack.

He looked around with renewed interest, squinted against the sunlight. What the hell was going on? Was he dead? Was this a dream? Would he wake up like this, young and bright, or older, jaded and afraid? There had to be an explanation for all this. There had to. Richie’s eyes searched for any kind of sign, half expected a billboard to just spell it all out for him, like the marquee atop the theatre complex, but he didn’t find it. He did find _something_ though, or someone.

Looking across the park, with the sound of bird calls still ringing in his ears, his gaze settled on a figure sitting in the shade on one of the benches. Even with his glasses Richie couldn’t really see that far, so he took a breath and walked over, feeling oddly at ease despite the thudding of his heartbeat.

As he approached the figure though, the old scar on his hand twinged, made his hand itchy, and Richie scratched it, his eyes forward. He needed to see, needed to know, needed to be there, felt like the wind was pushing at his back even though it wasn’t. He felt nervous, like he was about to experience some life-changing event, but that was silly, wasn’t it? Life-changing events were just regular events, a billion little moments that suddenly offered clarity years down the road, little things that seemed normal at the time and turned out to be something way more. It felt stupid to expect a moment, felt stupid to anticipate change, but he did. They all did, in a weird way, that summer of ‘89.

Richie’s feet carried him forward, the blades of grass tickling his ankles where they peeked over the rims of his socks, his hand tingling and heart rushing. When he got close enough to see, the words caught in his throat.

‘_Fuck, fuck, fuck, this can’t—this isn’t real—‘_

There, sitting on the bench, his little Bird Book at his side and binoculars gently grasped in his clean hands was Stanley Uris, his warm amber eyes focused intently on the bird bath across the way, his curls meticulously brushed and styled. His shirt was impossibly pressed and free of wrinkles like it was whenever they first saw him for the day, before he loosened up and got dirty playing around with the rest of them.

He was young, looked _healthy_, had a peace around him that was absent the last few days of the summer of ’89, replaced by a quiet sadness, a grief none of the others could quite understand. He’d always had it about him, in some capacity, but it really came to light at the end of it all.

Thinking back on it made Richie feel guilty. They couldn’t help him, not back then and not now, when they should’ve. That’s what friends were for, right? They were there for each other, were supposed to be able to fix all of the shit that happened. They couldn’t fix Stanley’s shit, couldn’t protect him, and that made Rich feel like a loser.

A _real_ loser.

But Stan looked happy now, looked normal, like he belonged here. He’d spent so many hours here in the past doing exactly this, ‘Collecting Birds’ for his father and for himself, finding something fascinating and comforting in the quiet that Richie never really got. He’d only come here with Stan once or twice, found it too boring, especially when the kid hushed him every time he tried to make a joke, didn’t enjoy Richie’s rock star impressions as much as he did.

But he didn’t mind being here now, almost wanted to be. He wanted to be here with Stan, like they all should’ve been, the Lucky Seven, like when they were young. Looking at this Stanley made Richie’s heart clench, made him happy and afraid and confused all at once. This wasn’t real; it couldn’t have been.

_‘Could it be? Is this fucking real?’_

He stood there like a moron—he didn’t know how long—but when he finally opened his mouth, his voice broke.

“St-_Stanley?_” Richie choked out, his lungs feeling squeezed and small.

“Shh! You’ll scare the birds away,” Stan replied, a familiar sense of annoyance in his tone. He didn’t spare Richie a glance, and instead gestured over to the bird bath. There, splashing around in the water contently were a few little birds, which Stanley could have told him were a Blackbird, Blue Jay and little Chickadee, but he didn’t. Instead he lifted his binoculars to get a closer look.

Richie stood still, at a loss for words for once.

“Well don’t stand there like an idiot—sit down,” his (dead) friend ordered, and Richie did. Stan slid over on the bench a bit to make room for Richie, and he sank down, his brain hurting like he just filed taxes. This was all too weird, too wild, and whether he admitted it or not, way too fucking emotional.

“Stan—“

“You know Bald Eagles mate for life? I read that, in my book.”

The statement was so random that Richie couldn’t help but let out an awkward laugh. “Yeah?” he replied, unsure of what the proper answer was. Stan had a habit of bringing things up that no one gave two shits about, but he owned those things, loved those things, and Richie couldn’t make fun of him for that. Not always. Not now.

“Yeah,” Stan continued. “They don’t cheat, they don’t lie. They love—I think birds can love—just that one other bird, unless one of them dies. If one of them dies—I mean it’s nature, that happens—then they’ll find someone new. They learn to move on.”

“You sound like some cheesy nature special, Stan,” Richie said, but he found the words profound in a way that he didn’t expect.

“Beep beep, Richie. I’m trying to tell you something, so just shut up for a minute.”

Richie couldn’t argue with that.

Stan lowered his binoculars, set them gently to the side. He turned to look at Richie, and his expression was so intense that Rich found himself turning red a little under the scrutiny. After a second, Stan kept talking, apparently deciding his friend was ready to listen.

He started with confidence, but by the end his gaze had dropped to the ground, like he wasn’t so sure of his conclusion after all. “They move on. They change. But just because they move on, I don’t think that they just…forget. I think they always remember, and that’s important. Because if you always remember, then something’s not really gone, right?”

Richie considered that for a moment. “Sure, man,” he replied, nodding. He adjusted his glasses, looked down at the dirt, kicking up a small plume of it.

Stan seemed satisfied with his response. “Right. So I guess what I’m saying is… don’t be afraid to change. I was. I was so scared that summer, Rich. Even though we were all there, we were all together, I just… I couldn’t shake it off like the rest of you. I couldn’t do it. I was scared out of my mind, way deep down, and that made me feel ashamed. It wasn’t just It that was scary—everything was. Everything was changing, and I just couldn’t deal. I couldn’t face it like all of you. You guys have no idea…no idea how bad it felt, how much I wished I could change myself. I couldn’t…I couldn’t ever tell you all either. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

That felt like a kick in the chest. Richie had never felt so fucking ashamed in his life. He wished he could make it all better. He wished he could go back in time and reach out more, maybe trade a couple of jokes for some honest questions, make sure Stan knew he was loved, knew he was safe, knew that it was all okay when they were together. Because it _was_ okay when they were together. But there was no way back now, even though this looked like Then, even though Stan was sitting here and Richie looked like his 12 year old self, and both knew it.

Richie’s voice caught in his throat, and his eyes stung a little like he was going to cry.

“You never disappointed us. Never,” he said with conviction. He reached out to lay a hand on Stan’s shoulder. It was shaking, he saw, but Stan didn’t seem to mind.

He was warm, Richie noted with satisfaction. He wasn’t cold, wasn’t stiff, wasn’t something dead and rotten. He was alive, tangible, even if this was just a dream or something. Whatever this was, whatever he was, if he was even really Stan, he was okay, and that meant a lot.

Stan gave him a sidelong glance, like he wasn’t sure if Richie was being honest, but he was. He’d never been more honest about anything in his life. He continued, had to say the words out loud, had to make sure Stan knew the truth in them. “You never disappointed us. You were Stan the fucking Man, and you were so fucking brave.”

Stan nodded a little, looked into Richie’s blue eyes. He could see his friend was telling the truth, and his shoulders dropped in relief, like a heavy burden had been lifted. Maybe it was. “Thanks Rich. I’m proud of you. All of you.”

Richie crumbled under the praise. He smiled, a sad sort of smile, and said, “We didn’t do enough.”

“You did,” Stanley countered. “Or, you’re going to, I think. It’ll be enough,” he said, and Richie got the sense he was talking about what was happening There, because Richie didn’t come here by accident, didn’t find some magic portal or get really high or get drunk off his ass. He was caught in the Deadlights, he knew, but he didn’t quite expect to get un-caught.

Stan thought otherwise obviously, maybe _knew_ that Richie wouldn’t stay here, and Richie suddenly wondered what Here really was. Was it some kind of purgatory? Was this really Stan? Would they all end up here? It seemed nice enough here. If this was what dying was like, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

But he didn’t want to die, couldn’t die, not after everything. Not after he finally let out his secret, not after he finally told Eddie how he felt.

_‘Eddie…’_

Eddie occupied his thoughts suddenly, so overwhelmingly quick that he actually jerked upright in his seat. He needed to get back, needed to get _out_, to get to Eddie. Eddie needed him, and no matter how nice it was here, with the sunlight warm and bright and the air quiet and calm, with Stanley here, young and happy and welcoming, he couldn’t stay here. No fucking way.

Stan seemed to sense the change in him, could feel the panic radiating off of him, but remained as stoic as ever. He looked over at the bird bath once more, but the birds were gone. He tried not to be disappointed, but Richie noticed, saw the way his eyes lost their brightness a little, saw the unhappy twitch of his lips. Richie would’ve commented on it, but this wasn’t the time. He needed to get out of here.

“Stan, where are we? Like, really?” he asked.

“I can’t really answer that for you. But I think…I think we’re Outside.”

“Outside…” Richie mused, a mix of confusion and recognition filling him. Outside, like where It came from. Was that true? Was it even remotely fucking possible? Richie believed in a lot of shit but this… He wasn’t sure. If it was real, _if_ it was, could he get back? Was he trapped here? Was _Stan_?

Richie felt his skin crawl, felt familiar fear bubble up in him. His heart beat too loud in his ears, and his limbs stiffened up. It was almost good, in a way, to fear. It was real. It made his surroundings feel less friendly for a moment, made it all seem artificial, like a lure on a fishing hook. The grass looked too green, and the sky was too blue, and suddenly Richie didn’t really wanna be here anymore. When he breathed in, he couldn’t smell the grass anymore, or the summer breeze, but he could smell That Smell That Had No Name, and that set off a clear fucking warning bell, strengthened his resolve.

He remembered where he had just been, all that was happening, and knew it was terrifying. He knew that going back meant being scared shitless again, maybe dying for real (if he wasn’t already dead) or having something horrible happen. He knew that they were all in danger, that It wasn’t defeated, and that it had to be. It would be easier to stay here, and be safe, wherever this was, but that…that wasn’t right. He couldn’t really stay here. He just couldn’t.

Richie shook his head so hard his glasses almost flew off, telling himself to man the fuck up. He adjusted them, and stood up. “I have to get back Inside. You hear me, Stan? Eddie…Eddie fucking needs me.”

“They all do,” Stan agreed, though he sounded sort of melancholy, like he did whenever it got late and they headed home from the Barrens, when they said their goodbyes, when the fun got cut too short.

It made a lump form in Richie’s throat, and he looked down at Stan’s Bird Book, took in the well worn binding, the tiny scuff or two on the cover. The book wasn’t open, but he knew the pages would be mostly free of wrinkles, and there certainly wouldn’t be any tears, or if there would be, Stan would’ve repaired them meticulously, because that’s what he did. He took care of what he liked, what he loved.

Richie wished he could stay with him, but he couldn’t.

“How do I get out of here?”

“I don’t think it’s really up to you, Rich.”

Richie sighed, braced his hands on his hips and stomped his foot like a pissy child, urgency filling him. That was bullshit. There _had _to be a way out of here! There needed to be! It wasn’t fucking fair. There was always a way out—those were the rules.

‘_The rules_?’ He wondered. ‘_What rules? The rules of fantasy stories, where people live happily ever after, where best friends don’t fucking kill themselves or get driven fucking insane by some all-seeing monster? The rules in books and movies where no matter what goes wrong, everything is fine and perfect in the end? This isn’t like that, is it? It doesn’t play by the rules, and it never did.’_

For a second, Richie was afraid that he was truly trapped here, that he could never get back to Eddie. A ripple of panic ran down his spine. He spoke again, voice demanding despite his fear. “Am I fucking dead? Are we both dead? Like for real?”

“Dead as a Dodo,” Stan replied, and his lips turned up in a certain way, like he couldn’t keep serious, like it was just too funny to keep straight. And, it kind of was.

Looking at Stan made Richie shake his head in disbelief after a few seconds, made him laugh a little at the absurdity of it, and suddenly Stanley was laughing too, even though it wasn’t really that funny, and most of Stan’s jokes weren’t. But they laughed nonetheless, loud and carefree like the world belonged to them, like the afternoon they built the dam down at the Barrens, or after the Rock Fight when they were all finally together, one big group, and it made Richie’s chest ache, and the next thing he knew his eyes really were filled with tears.

He wiped them away as the laughter died down, pressed his lips together to keep the laughs from turning into sobs.

“I’m sorry, man. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay, really.” 

“Is it? Are _you_?”

There was silence for a moment, and Stan looked at his surroundings. His face was soft, his warm eyes carefully considering it all with detail, like he did everything. Richie waited patiently for a response, took in his appearance, and committed it to memory.

In the end, Stan nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

“Good,” Richie replied. He didn’t know what else to say, but it was enough. He thought things over for a minute, wracking his brain, and eventually found more words. “You know, I—I—“

The statement caught in his throat—literally. He couldn’t speak at all, like someone clamped iron around his lips, or grabbed his throat and squeezed. He felt stiff as a board, and his eyes flitted around in panic. Richie’s blood ran cold, and he was sure this was what it felt like to get a heart attack: sudden, overwhelming loss of control, trying, struggling to get everything to cooperate, even just a little. Richie tried to breathe in, but he couldn’t even do that. His lungs didn’t move, burned with the lack of air, and that was terrifying.

_‘Oh god, oh fuck—‘ _he thought, wished he could say the words out loud, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even fucking blink, really.

Stan didn’t seem nearly as distressed though. His eyes lingered on Richie for a moment, practically frozen at his side, and he picked up his binoculars again, looked over at the bird bath. Richie couldn’t finish his sentence, couldn’t get his words out, but it didn’t matter. “I know, buddy. I know,” Stan said, and Richie felt that he did know, that he somehow knew exactly which words were going to fly out of Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier’s mouth. They were good words,

_“Good Medicine,”_

and that was enough for Stanley.

It had to be enough, because Richie got the sense he was either about to be obliterated or given a second chance at life. He wasn’t sure which concept was scarier.

It was getting kind of hard to see now, like someone had turned the lights up to 150%, like when your phone suddenly lit up in the middle of the night with a new text or a stupid fucking notification, and it scared the shit out of you and ripped you right out of whatever sleepy comfy mood you were in. It was worse than getting the flashlight shone directly in your fucking eyeball at the doctor’s office, or the glare of streetlights on a rainy street. Richie squinted against the brightness the best he could, tried to raise a hand to reach out to Stan, or to cover his own eyes, but he couldn’t.

He was scared all over again, filled with so much dread suddenly that he thought his heart was gonna burst, dread so heavy and thick that he could hardly breathe. It dropped over him like black ooze, but cold and suffocating instead of burning like up in Neibolt or at the Jade of the Orient. If he could’ve moved, he would’ve been shaking, his teeth would have chattered hard enough to hurt. Richie was glad he didn’t piss his goddamn pants. It was more intense, more _real_ than any fear Richie’d ever felt, and that was saying a lot.

_“Fear,”_ he remembered suddenly—Pennywise’s last word that summer. He didn’t get it at the time, but he got it now, because he felt it.

It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t human fear. It was true, _primal_ fear, something older than time or all the shit they’d been through or any human had been through, maybe something even older than the clown. Richie wondered if he would survive it, if he’d ever get over it or be able to forget feeling like this, if he could ever feel anything _but_ this again. He wondered if Beverly had felt this way too, if she remembered it today. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He hoped it’d be over soon, that it’d just let him die or let him go, because it was fucking agonizing.

Richie Tozier came face to face with Fear itself for the first and thankfully last time in his life. It only last a few seconds, but felt like a lifetime, like a hundred lifetimes, and through it all, through the pain and overwhelming, catastrophic mind fuck, the last thing he heard Stanley Uris say, and the last thing he would hear Stanley Uris say for many years yet, was “Don’t let go of him, Rich. Don’t let him go.”

The light faded.


	2. Believing

Richie fell to the ground with a thud. Pain shot up his back—there were some little rocks digging into his skin even through his jacket, and his funny-bones were sharing a hilarious joke with the hard stones— and his head hurt, and he thought he was gonna blow chunks_._ He felt like he’d just been through the spin cycle of the washer, like he was upside down, floating, but also falling, like his old Yo-Yo had gone into overdrive, and he was just along for the ride. He groaned, and managed to open his eyes. It all looked so dark, compared to the light he’d just seen, and all of his senses were overwhelmed at once. He could hear everything again, could taste the little trickle of blood running down from his nose on his lips, could smell the dank and the dirt, and most importantly, could feel hands on him, shaking his shoulders, holding his face, grabbing his hands.

“Eddie…” he tried, but it came out in a jumbled mush. His brain was still too scrambled to get everything working right.

“Hey, _hey_! There he is! Rich, I did it! I think I did it Richie! I killed It!” Eddie’s voice was full of relief, ecstatic, kind of manic, but it felt oh so good to hear.

Richie blinked, cleared his cloudy vision, and in the dim flashing lights he could see him—Eddie. _Eddie._

“Oh fuck, oh thank god,” Richie muttered, finally taking a long, fulfilling breath. The fear was gone for a moment, and instead he felt so full of love that it almost drove him to tears. He could guess what just happened. Eddie had saved him from the Deadlights, and god, if Rich didn’t already love the man with his whole heart, he would now.

“Yeah! I did it man!” the brunet continued, laughing in relief. His hands were fisted in Richie’s jacket, almost shaking with excitement. Eddie moved to pull back, to stand up, and Richie would’ve laughed with him, but a pang went through him, like he was pinched in the back hard enough to bleed, and his blue eyes looked around, desperate to identify whatever threat set off his intuition. But it wasn’t just intuition guiding him—he remembered Stan’s words.

_“Don’t let go of him, Rich.”_

Looking just beyond Eddie’s shoulder, he could see It stirring, could see those long, spiny, spindly legs shifting and twitching, the frills on its fucking clothing fluttering with the motion. It was hard to see with all the flashing, but whatever was happening sure as hell wasn’t good, and that thing wasn’t dead, and Richie understood all at once what was going to happen.

It happened like in slow motion, which looking back later, much later, when things were all fine and good, would make him laugh, but was nothing to laugh about in the moment. Richie saw that long claw lifting up, saw It pick its target, and knew it would be Eddie.

“Watch out!”

Richie grabbed Eddie by the shoulders, crushed him so tight against his chest that the brunet’s nose would ache for a while, and rolled them to the side twice. He felt all of his muscles jump as Pennywise’s strike drove into the ground next to them, knocking up dirt and dust. The boom was loud enough to deafen.

Eddie groaned and coughed in his arms, but there was no time to feel relief or complain, no time for a kiss or Getting Off A Good One, because It roared above them in frustration, and then laughed maniacally, and Richie and Eddie scrambled to their feet, jumped up fast like puppets on strings.

“Holy fuck!” Eddie exclaimed, realizing what had just happened. He stumbled backwards into the cavern wall, reached out and pulled Richie closer by the hand. They avoided another strike, and ran a short length to regroup with the others. Richie was running so fast he ran face first into Ben, and bounced off of his chest.

“Are you okay?!” Ben shouted over the noise, bracing a hand on Richie’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re okay!” Eddie answered for him, linking hands with Beverly. She was blood-soaked, but that didn’t matter right now.

“Where’s Mike?!” Richie asked, adjusting his glasses. The group moved a few feet, crouched behind an outcropping of rock.

Beverly peeked out from behind the rock, looked across the dark cavern. The Deadlights flashed menacingly high above, and It was dragging a claw across the cavern wall, etching a sharp, deep line in the dark stone. Just beyond the Meteor Splash, to the left, she could see Bill soaking wet, pulling Mike by the arm out of the view of the creature. He made eye contact with her across the way, and she gestured for him to come over to them.

Bill nodded, and pointed over at them. Mike steeled himself, and they made their way over.

“They’re over there,” Bev whispered, and Richie and Ben crawled forward to take a look too. Eddie looked out from the other side, keeping an eye on It. The sight was nauseating, and frustrating. He hadn’t killed it after all, even though he believed. Fuck, it almost killed _him,_ but Richie saved him, and here they were now, hiding behind a rock. Eddie was ready to get up and run again if necessary, and he felt it would be, but he found himself wishing he could simply _fight_, could kick the shit out of it and pound it into dust.

Beverly leaned out further, gesturing for Bill and Mike to hurry it up. They were running and creeping in odd intervals, trying to use the cover of the Meteor Splash to stay hidden. It was looking for them, for all of them, and there wasn’t a moment to lose.

Bev wasn’t sure how they were going to beat it. That wasn’t even on her mind, really. She was more concerned with them all just staying _alive._ Hiding seemed like the only thing to do, and she hated that. She leaned out a little more.

“Wait!” Ben hissed, pulling Bev back by the waist, his heart leaping into his throat.

Pennywise had turned in their direction. He didn’t quite see them, but had the sense that they were there. A grin crossed It’s lips, and its teeth were razor-sharp, its gums blood red and dripping. Each oversized drop of blood landed on the cave floor with a _splat_.

“WHERE ARE THE LITTLE LOSERS? HIDING, PENNYWISE, HIDING IN CRACKS IN THE WALLS LIKE MICE, SO SMALL YET SO ANNOYING. I CAN HEAR YOUR LITTLE SQUEAKS!”

“Jesus!” Eddie exclaimed, scrambling backwards into Richie. The sound of the clown’s voice raised goosebumps on his skin, and not good ones. His courage was a little lacking again.

“Dude, _fuck_ that guy, seriously!” Richie agreed, voice wavering. He wrapped an arm around Eddie, held him close, and in other circumstances would’ve really gotten a kick out of it, but he was too busy being scared.

“Everyone shut up!” Beverly whispered.

Bill and Mike were stopped across the way, eyes up on Pennywise. The creature’s footfalls were loud and unnatural, rapid and insect-like thanks to its numerous legs. It laughed, a dark, deep chuckle, and a chunk of rock flew across the cavern, landed between the two groups with a crash loud enough to make them all jump.

“COME OUT, LITTLE MICE! OR I’LL LAY SOME TRAPS! OLD PENNYWISE IS GOOD AT LAYING TRAPS, YES! HE LAID THEM FOR ALL OF YOU, AND WILL DO IT AGAIN!”

“God, I hate It!” Ben said quietly, but with fervor. He’d been through enough, they all had, and he desperately wanted all of this to be _over._ He dared to move forward a little, and peeked out from behind their cover. Pennywise was nearly level with them now, though maybe 10ft away, and it was terrifying and frustrating.

He felt fear for Bill and Mike particularly, who were pressed against the back of a big rock, hoping they wouldn’t be seen. Ben looked around, for something, _anything_, and his eyes settled on a crack in the cavern wall. It was a little hard to see from here, but looked big enough to walk through, and seemed to slope down. Maybe there was another, smaller cave? Maybe there was a way out? It was on the opposite side of the cavern, behind Pennywise. Bill and Mike would have to run directly through the Meteor Splash, as the outer ring of the cavern was littered with debris, but it would be worth the risk, right? They couldn’t stay where they were.

When It moved forward once more, each footfall a bone-shattering _thud_, Ben knew they had to move.

He waved his hands to get Bill and Mike’s attention, and Mike saw it out of the corner of his eye. Ben pointed at the hole he’d found with urgency, and Mike nodded. He leaned over to whisper to Bill, who was staring up at It with such hatred that it almost outweighed the fear in his eyes.

“We’ve gotta make a run for it,” Ben said to his companions, ducking behind the rock again.

“What? Run for it? Run for it _where_?!” Richie asked, gesturing around them. As far as he saw, they were fucking trapped.

“Over there, behind him, there’s an opening or something. He’ll be too big to fit!”

“Can we make it?” Beverly asked, brows knit.

“We can,” Ben said firmly. “We just gotta—“

“I FOUND YOU!” Pennywise sang, laughing deliriously.

They all nearly jumped out of their skin, and Eddie actually bit his tongue, but thankfully, Pennywise wasn’t above them. He was across the way, trying to catch Bill and Mike now.

“Shit!” Mike exclaimed, jumping out of the way of a claw. He stumbled backwards and fell down, avoided being impaled by a few inches. Bill jumped to the other side of the strike, and a pile of rubble exploded between them from the attack.

“Mikey! R-run!” Bill called, skirting around the debris. Mike scrambled to his feet and took off running towards the hole, while Bill took a bigger risk. He ran directly underneath It, hoping to divert its attention from Mike.

“Go, go, go!” Ben said, and his group sprung into action. Beverly was the fastest, despite being the shortest (Eddie wasn’t that much taller than her, but still.) She jumped over a rock and made a bee line for the hole, swinging her arm wildly for the others to follow. Richie and Eddie did just that, Eddie clutching his aching mouth, Richie keeping a hand on his glasses to keep them from flying off, and Ben came up the rear, looking back in disbelief at Bill, who had successfully captured It’s attention.

He darted between It’s legs, stumbled once and had to roll out of the way to avoid getting impaled as It became more and more frustrated, growling and groaning above him, but that was enough time for Mike to crash into the others, and they all slipped into the mouth of the smaller cave, turned around to watch Bill.

“Bill!” Eddie screamed, and the others joined him.

“Come on!” Mike shouted, holding out his hand and waving towards himself.

The group’s screaming turned frantic as Bill narrowly avoided being swept up and launched himself forward, sliding down into the hole with them, with not a moment to spare.

He wasn’t sure he made it at first, was certain the shudder running across his neck was actually a clawed hand, bigger than a human’s, bigger than the werewolf in Neibolt’s, locking around his flesh, ready to squeeze his windpipe until he choked. It was just air though, strong wind that blew thanks to the force in which Pennywise swiped his claw forward. (Later on Ben would swear there was about an inch and a half of blessed dead air between the tips of It’s claws and Bill’s neck.)

Bill tumbled into the hole, and knew he’d bruise later on. There was a scrape on his knee that he could feel bleeding even through his jeans, and his shoulder hurt from the impact, but that didn’t matter. He was alive for the moment, and the Losers thanked their lucky stars. They all descended further into the cave, screaming and hollering as Pennywise tried to force himself into the mouth of the hole, shaking the walls and raining rocks down on them as he tried to dig in.

A rock cut Richie across the cheek, and he inhaled sharply and slapped a hand up to the cut. A bit of blood trickled out between his fingers. When they determined they were a safe enough distance away—for now—he sat down, took a deep breath.

Eddie sat down at his side, and Ben crouched across from them for a moment. While everyone settled, his attention was pulled elsewhere though, and he crawled away from the group.

“Is everyone okay?” Bev asked, pushing her bloody hair out of her eyes. She sounded breathless, her lungs aching, and clutched her knees, trying to recover.

“I’m fine,” Mike said, though his arm was throbbing from the cut Bowers landed on him earlier. He fell on it at some point, and it was irritated, and would require a lot of treatment later on. That wasn’t important now though. Surviving was. He leaned over Bill, who was laying on his back on the ground, covering his eyes with the crook of his arm. Bill’s body ached, and he was getting damn _tired_, but he was still alive, and that was what was really important.

“You alright, man?” Mike asked, reaching out and grabbing Bill’s free hand.

“I’m-m- f-f-fine,” Bill replied, slowly sitting up. He patted Mike’s hand, and they broke contact in favor of checking themselves over.

“Anyone have any—“

“COME OUT, VERMIN! YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER!”

“—plans?” Eddie asked, expression grim. He was inspecting the cut on Richie’s face, and flinched at the booming interruption.

“You mean besides—ow—cowering in the corner here?” Richie asked, trying to make a joke. He pulled Eddie’s hands away from his face. No one laughed. There was silence for a moment, and Richie thought they looked like a bunch of assholes, sitting there and twiddling their proverbial thumbs.

Jeez, this fucking sucked.

“Bill?” Beverly asked, breaking the silence.

They all turned to look at him, but Denbrough only shook his head, brushed back the silver strands of his bangs. His expression was sort of pained, like it always was when he didn’t know what to say or do. Richie sometimes suspected it was his guilt face—something he wore when he was feeling terrible about himself. He didn’t comment on it.

“I don’t…I-is there anything else that can help us, M-M-Mike?” Big Bill said.

“I don’t know…” Mike replied, sighing. He frowned. “I just…”

“I wish we could just kill it,” Eddie said. “Like just… beat the shit out of it. That’s what we did the first time, right?”

“It was more than that,” Richie added, shaking his head. “There was… I don’t know. I felt a certain way.”

“R-R-Richie’s right.”

Eddie sighed, and shook his head in frustration. There was something he wanted to say, something at the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t quite know what it was. “God dammit! _Fuck_ that thing. I just wanna choke the shit out of—“

Eddie stopped suddenly, and the others looked at him. He paused for a moment, open mouthed, and raised his hand excitedly. “The Leper. The Leper! I-I-I—Back in Keene’s Pharmacy, in the basement. The Leper attacked me, but I fought back! I choked him. God, he was so…_weak_. I was beating him, I swear. I had him down, had him scared. I…I made him feel _small._”

“Small…” Beverly echoed, thinking it over. “Small… Small! The cavern entrance! Pennywise has to make himself smaller to get through, to go through the sewers!” She clapped her hands together at the revelation, and a light bulb went off in Mike’s head.

“All living things must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit!” he quoted, catching her drift.

Bill and Richie exchanged glances and perked up.

Bev continued. “If we can lead him back there, if we can get him through, we can force him down to size! We can make him small enough to kill him.”

“Holy shit, that’s brilliant, Bev!” Richie exclaimed, sitting up straighter.

“B-b-but how do we—“

“Guys, there’s another way out!” Ben interjected, rejoining the group suddenly. They’d been so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t really notice his absence, but the little side cave he returned from made things clear.

“There’s another way out. We can get around behind him, get to the exit,” Ben said, gesturing behind himself.

“Think we can make it?” Eddie asked.

There was a loud _boom_, and some rubble flew down the tunnel, bounced off the cave ceiling and landed at their feet.

“I think he’s pretty preoccupied,” Richie replied, raising his brows at the chunk of rock lying between them.

All at once, they decided to move. Words weren’t necessary—their bond was strong enough, clear enough again, that they could act without them. For a moment, Richie felt a flicker of that feeling, that determination that had seen them through to the end as kids, and knew it would come to them again when they needed it.

He locked eyes with Mike, and they nodded, and Richie got to his feet. He pulled Eddie up by the hand, and instead of dropping it as usual, kept it grasped firmly in his own, held it like a lifeline. The others looked at him, and the two of them, and nothing had to be said. It was natural, made sense, and was a long time coming. There was no time to comment on it now anyway. The discussion could come later. Richie found it in him to smile just a fraction though at his friends.

Eddie took it a little harder, avoided their gazes for a moment, but realized there was nothing to be afraid of anymore, that they approved, and squeezed Richie’s hand reassuringly, interlaced their fingers.

“Let’s go,” Bill said, and Ben led the way through the gap in the wall as It continued raging behind them.

When they came to the opening of the wider cavern, they could see Pennywise still focused on the small tunnel. Deciding there wasn’t a second to lose, the Losers hauled ass towards the exit, not daring to say a word.

_BOOM!_ With an earth-shattering rumble, their path was blocked. It loomed above them, having beaten them to the exit, and Ben actually had to slide out of the way to avoid being impaled by a leg, and the Losers all crashed into each other, crying out in terror.

“GOTCHA!” It shouted, a nasty grin on its face as it peered down at the frightened adults. Its hands were raised, clawed fingertips tensed and twitching, ready to close around its prey. “YOU FILTHY LITTLE CHILDREN!”

Beverly helped Ben up and held him tight, and the others crowded around them, inches apart. They truly looked like children, small and scared against something so big and unnatural.

“Mike, you got a plan B man? What do we do now?!” Ben asked, his face distressed.

“DIE! THAT’S WHAT YOU DO!” Pennywise answered, lifting a claw.

Bill felt panic surge through him—he knew they were running out of time, and they were woefully unarmed. He wasn’t sure what to do, wasn’t sure how to protect them. He doubted It would settle for just one of them now. They had wounded its pride too much. He grabbed Mike by the forearm.

“M-Mike?”

Mike felt his mouth run dry with the pressure. They were counting on him, all of them, were putting the last of their trust in his hands. He’d failed them so far, got them into this mess, and didn’t have all the answers. He imagined this was what it was like for Bill back then, was the reason Big Bill’s hair was now going gray before the rest of them. The responsibility was overwhelming, made Mike feel small. He remembered their outcries, the painful words they’d thrown at him when the ritual failed, and didn’t think he could take that again. It hurt him too much. The memory offered him a moment of clarity though, and for a split second he looked around at all of them, the Losers.

Losers.

They were losers, because others had told them so. Others had pushed them down, called them names, hurt them, for no good reason other than wanting to. There was nothing _wrong_ with any of them, never was.

There was nothing wrong with Ben Hanscom, whose heart was big enough to love the world, who cared so much, who built an entire Clubhouse for his friends. There was nothing wrong with Beverly Marsh, who was strong and brave, and never let her past get her down, who always treated others with kindness despite the darkness she endured. There was nothing wrong with Big Bill Denbrough, who only had trouble getting his words out, but spoke profoundly, had amazing stories to tell, and would risk it all for those he loved. There was nothing wrong with Eddie Kaspbrak, who routinely faced his fears, who suffered for his friends, who deserved a lot more than his mother gave him. There was nothing wrong with Richie Tozier, whose mouth sometimes got away from him, who could make anyone feel better with his jokes, who made them all laugh. And there had been nothing wrong with Stanley Uris, who was smart, and kind and quiet, who loved deeply and loved until it killed him.

There was nothing wrong with any of them, but they had been tricked. They had been hurt, taught never to believe in themselves. They had been made _small_, and only discovered the truth of the matter when they were all together. They weren’t small, never were, and weren’t now.

But someone else _was_ small, and they had come to that conclusion before, and didn’t remember it until now.

Mike knew what had to be done.

“There’s more than one way to make someone small,” he said.

Richie squinted at him, his face a mixture of confusion and apprehension. “What?”

Eddie understood though, or felt he thought he did. “Make him believe he is,” he said quietly, the idea sneaking up on him.

“W-what?” Bill asked, as they all took hesitant steps back out of It’s range.

“Make him believe that he is!” Beverly said, understanding. Mike nodded at her, excitement in his eyes.

“SMALL?” Pennywise laughed, teeth dripping saliva. “I AM THE EATER OF WORLDS!”

“Not to us you’re not,” Mike frowned, standing his ground. “You’re just a clown.”

There was something in the tone of his voice that made the creature stop for a moment, made its yellow eyes glaze over as it considered those words. It looked confused, like it couldn’t quite believe what it heard. Beverly took the moment of weakness and acted.

She took a step forward. “You’re a weak old woman,” she said with spite, expelled the memory of Ms. Kersh from her mind. ‘_No more_,’ she thought. ‘_No more tricks, no more fucking delusions. You can’t hurt us anymore.’_

Ben stepped up beside her, his voice stronger, his anger clearer. He thought of all the torment, of all the lies. He thought of It using Beverly’s face, taunting him. “You’re a mimic!” Ben accused. “A-A mimic!”

“A dumb fucking statue!” Richie shouted, stepping forward. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, glared up at the monster of his childhood. He could feel it—could feel them banding together, could feel the courage that had consumed him as a kid, the courage that made him pick up a baseball bat and swing.

“A Leper!” Eddie added, a strange sense of euphoria filling him as they fought back together. It shrunk back at his words, shuddered violently, and the face of his nightmares appeared, took the place of the clown. The Leper spit and choked, and the boils on his face popped, the infectious pus running down his ruined visage, but Eddie wasn’t afraid anymore. _‘I will kill you, fucker!’_ he thought, advancing with his friends as It recoiled.

“A ghost! N-nothing more!” Bill said, his eyes lit up with fury. It was only a ghost, the ghost of his grief, and he was done letting it haunt him. He was done letting it wear him down, and couldn’t let it continue to haunt others. _‘No more Georgies,’_ he thought. _‘No more Betty Ripsoms, no more Eddie Corcorans.’_

Pennywise’s laughter turned nervous, _frightened_, and it gave the Losers the confidence they needed. They berated him, each insult louder, stronger than the last, and It retreated, shuddering and twitching as it tried and failed to concoct a suitable face, tried to get the upper hand again, to make them afraid.

But they weren’t afraid anymore, and would never be again.

“A Liar!”

“A Werewolf!”

“A Bird!”

“A _fucking Mummy_!”

“A stupid Painting!”

“A bad Joke!”

“A _Clown_!” Someone settled on, and a shudder ran through all of them, and they knew that was it—that was the magic word.

“A Clown!” Ben agreed.

“Clown!” Richie roared.

“A fucking Clown!” Mike said.

The Losers banded together, drove It backwards, into the Meteor Splash.

“Clown!” Bill said with conviction, spurred on by It’s fear.

The creature’s expression relayed its apprehension. Somewhere in those venomous yellow eyes the recognition appeared, and they knew it was working.

“I’M THE EATER OF WORLDS!” Pennywise protested, stumbling backwards into rock. His limbs twitched and shifted, slowly grew smaller. Those long claws retracted, and he looked weaker, gripped the edge of an outcropping of rock for stability.

“You’re a _Clown_!” Eddie replied, pointing right at him. “A stupid shitty Clown!”

“NO!”

“_Clown! Clown! Clown_!” The Losers chanted at odd intervals, voicing all of their pain and hatred, manifesting and expelling years of torture in a simple word. To Richie it almost seemed there was a seventh voice in their midst: the voice of Stanley Uris, guiding them, supporting them, but maybe it was just his imagination. It didn’t matter, really. It brought them closer together, made them even stronger.

It shrank in size as they advanced, and the sight was absurd. It grew smaller and smaller, smaller even than in ’89, and continued to shrink as they crowded around it, their combined confidence too much for it to bear.

When it was about the size of a man, Richie’s rage drove him to action, and he tore off one of its spindly legs with such hatred that Pennywise howled in fear.

“E-EATER OF WORLDS!” he said once more, but the tone suggested he couldn’t believe it himself anymore.

“A stupid dumb fucking _Clown_!” Ben screamed.

“A Clown!” Beverly agreed.

It crawled away from them now, no larger than a child, and it was still getting smaller. They were _making_ it smaller. It’s limbs dragged behind it, weak and diminutive.

“E-eater….of worlds…” Pennywise said once more, his voice wavering, quiet now, and not the booming, grating noise they were used to. His back was pressed against the rock, and he could no longer stand.

They advanced, gathered around him in a semi-circle.

“Clown,” Bill said firmly.

“No….”

“You’re a Clown,” Mike said. “With a scared, beating heart.”

And it was true. They could hear it, all of them. They could hear the beating, _ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum_, rapid and fearful, a drum beat which brought satisfaction with each note. They had made it true.

Mike knew what to do. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew. He reached forward, feeling only determination, no fear anymore. He felt strong, felt Big, and knew they would complete their mission. He willed the ruffles of the silver clown suit to move aside, imagined the chest of the creature hollow, except for one tangible heart, beating fast enough to burst. He didn’t know for sure if the heart was even real, or if it only existed because he wanted it to. It didn’t matter.

Mike’s fingers closed around It’s heart. He pulled the organ out, had to struggle a little to dislodge it. He thought he heard a faint snapping sound as it released. Mike remained stony-faced as the Clown protested, cried out desperately, trying to stop him from taking its core.

The Losers took a breath and steeled themselves as Mike drew back, holding the rapidly beating heart in his hands, the sound of it loud in all of their ears. They exchanged glances, and one by one closed their hands around Mike’s, and held tightly. The pace of the beating quickened to an inhuman speed, as unnatural as the being it belonged to, but they ignored it. There was no sympathy for the creature. Not one ounce.

“Look at you…” Pennywise whispered, the strength practically leaking. It was clear to It that it was over, that its long life in this cosmos was coming to an end. It felt regret, felt fear, but most of all, felt a sort of melancholy pride. They had been the perfect prey, a challenge. Unfortunately, they were a challenge which proved too difficult. Pennywise grimaced.

“…You’re all grown up.”

It wasn’t allowed another word.

Mike took a deep breath, and began to squeeze the dark organ in his hand. The strength of his friends, of his family, joined him, wrapped tightly around his own fingers, but despite the force behind their grasps, he felt no pain. In that moment, he doubted anything could ever hurt him again. They were more than themselves in that moment; they were a force of nature. Together they tore the heart apart, collected their pound of flesh, flinching internally at the texture, at the sound, but they continued. They squeezed until It died with a final scream, and the pulsating luminescence of the Deadlights above them stuttered out, and the cavern grew darker, and silent.

There was a pause, and It’s body crackled and solidified, turned onyx like the rock beneath it. The heart in their hands disappeared slowly, floated up piece by piece into the air, along with The Smell That Had No Name, and ceased to exist.

It was dead.


	3. End of Summer

Richie took a deep breath, and felt like he was breathing clearly for the first time ever. He looked over at Eddie, and felt such supreme relief that he almost cried. They all looked at each other, their hands still connected, and something warm and kind rushed over them. A sigh of relief was uttered by all.

There was no time to revel in it though. The ground began to shake, subtly at first, but then stronger and stronger, and the cavern walls quaked and groaned, and debris began to fall. The walls of the cavern seemed to ripple, to shrink, and threatened to fall apart entirely. If they didn’t get out soon, they would be trapped.

“Let’s go! We gotta get out of here!” Eddie said, and he was right.

They high-tailed it out of the cavern, didn’t spare a second glance.

The next few minutes were a blur for all. The rumble of the collapsing earth was deafening, and Ben narrowly avoided a concussion at one point. Bill almost slipped and fell climbing out of the well, but Eddie pulled him to safety. Beverly got a small cut on her arm from a breaking window on the way out of Neibolt, but the group made it out of the decrepit house in the nick of time, the shingles of the porch roof dropping over their heads as they launched themselves down the steps and across the dead lawn. No one turned around until their feet were firmly planted on cracked pavement, and they were out of It’s realm, back in the real world.

They watched the house on 29 Neibolt Street sink into the earth, collapsing in on itself like a piece of folded paper, and leave nothing but a large plume of dirt and dust big enough to send a smoke signal. No one said anything for almost a full minute.

“Well that was one big, horrible nightmare,” Richie said though, breaking the silence.

Despite themselves, they all broke out into laughter. It was tired, quiet laughter, but it was enough.

“So guys, what happens now?” Ben asked. His face was still dirt covered, like the day he splashed down into the Barrens and met them all.

Bill looked around at his friends, and then looked up and down Neibolt street. It was warm, and sunny. It was only the first week of September. That was technically—

“S-s-summer,” Denbrough said, mostly to himself. The others looked at him, a mixture of confusion on their faces. “It’s still summer,” he elaborated. “Let’s go to the Q-q-quarry.”

“Yeah,” Mike replied. “I like that idea.”

Bev looked back at Eddie’s car a little distance down the road, which they had arrived in. “Are we walking or—“

“Oh we’re fucking walking,” Eddie interjected, nodding furiously. “I’m disgusting, and so are all of you, and I’m not getting any of this shit all over my custom seats. Fuck, I can just imagine the detailing that’d have to be done. I mean, you’re covered in fucking _blood_!” He gestured to Beverly, who rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but didn’t mind that much.

“That brings me to a really important question,” Richie said, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulder as the group started walking. “Where do you think he got all that shit from? I’d like to imagine the third door—the one we didn’t go in, Eds—was a little supply closet. He had a huge ass air tank in there and bought balloons in bulk from Sam’s Club and sat there for hours blowing them up and getting all excited and shit, and then he’d go to the Halloween store and just buy buckets and buckets of fake blood—“ He knew it was real blood, but for the sake of the chucks he was after ignored that fact, “—and he probably worked the graveyard shift at Mcdonalds to afford all of that. Pennywise worked for Pennies, because he wasn’t Wise enough to get a degree.” 

“_Jesus_, Richie,” Ben breathed out. But he was laughing, the subtle wrinkles by his eyes crinkling with joy as he said “Beep Beep.”

“Aww, come on Benny-Boo, I’ve got plenty more theories!”

“Save them for later, Trashmouth,” Beverly replied, taking Ben’s hand in her own.

The Quarry had barely changed. There was a fence in front of the jump point now, which was kind of arbitrary, because it didn’t actually prevent anyone from skirting around it and getting to the cliff’s edge. The nearby tree was taller too. Otherwise, there was nothing different of note. It was still the same secluded, sunny place that they knew, that they spent hours at on hot days when the window units in their houses stopped working, when it was too hot to even think of going to the Barrens, or they’d get swallowed up by mosquitoes or heat-stroke. There was nobody there now, and they were thankful for it.

“Are we really doing this?” Eddie asked as they climbed over the fence. He climbed over last, only after checking that no one was around besides them, which was kind of silly. They had nothing to fear anymore—even the police couldn’t stop them at this point, but he cared anyway. Eddie inched over to the edge of the cliff, peered down into the water, apprehension crossing his face.

“Yeah, we are,” Bill replied, taking off his flannel shirt. It wasn’t as dirty as the rest of their clothes, but he didn’t feel like wearing it in the water. His shoes went next, and although he was tired and somewhat in pain, he felt happy.

“Just like old times,” Mike said with a smile, draping his jacket over the fence post. If Bill was considered happy, he was ecstatic, filled with so much relief and pride at all of his friends that he couldn’t keep the grin off of his face for a moment.

“There isn’t like a-a-a public shower or some shit around here?” Eddie asked doubtfully. “I don’t think this is gonna get us clean enough.”

“Calm down Eddie Spaghetti, don’t want your noodles to get overcooked,” Richie replied, bending down to take off his boots. He grinned, knowing that any second—

“Don’t call me that, you dick.”

There it was. God, it was so good to hear. He was so happy that things had worked out, that they could even stand here all together now. There was still one missing, but…things were okay for the moment.

“You pussies gonna make me go first again?” Beverly asked, smiling as she kicked off her sneakers.

“Well since you offered,” Eddie shrugged. He finally conceded and pulled off his sweatshirt, placed it next to his shoes.

“Alright, alright,” she replied, shaking out her red hair. It was darkened by the dried blood, but what natural color seeped through the mess reflected the bright sunlight. Her face was tired, but content. Ben thought she was beautiful.

Spurred on by Bill and the others clapping good naturedly, Beverly Marsh stepped up to the edge of the cliff, and jumped down into the water, feeling a rush of euphoria and freedom like she never had before. The fall seemed to last forever, each second dragging out into a minute, letting her take in every detail, mark it in her memory. The long nightmare was over, and the water splashing around her felt cleansing in more way than one. When she surfaced, her smile was wide and genuine, and she doubted she’d ever forget this feeling.

One by one they followed, and dropped into the water.

They swam over to the sandbank, which spread maybe 14ft and lay directly across from the jump point. There were rocks underneath the sand, and sometimes if you weren’t careful one of them would scrape the underside of your foot (it happened to Mike that summer as kids, and Eddie just about dropped dead at the thought of all the bacteria and particles that wormed their way into the gash, and insisted he clean it out thoroughly and slather it with Neosporin) and could cause a nasty cut, but overall the whole thing was safe enough to sit on, and was really nice in late summer, like now, when the water had warmed up a bit and the sun would shine on you.

Eddie was scrubbing at his skin vigorously, desperately wishing for a bar of soap after thinking too late about his cheek wound(he remembered it the second his feet left the ground of the cliff, and let out a great big “FUCK!” when flying down) when Bill piped up suddenly.

“I…I miss Stan,” he said. His face was sort of contorted, like someone had just stabbed him in the heart. Maybe the revelation that it was all over did. It was all over, and they were all here, and safe, but Stan was not.

Eddie swallowed hard, felt his eyes sting a little. He’d known Stanley Uris since first grade, counted him as a best friend. He was gone now though, and no matter how much they wished or pleaded, they’d never be able to bring him back. Eddie let his hands drop in the water, and stared down at his reflection. “I wish we could’ve seen him. Just one more time. I….I just feel guilty, you know? 27 years, and we didn’t see each other.”

“That’s not our fault,” Ben protested. “If we had remembered, if things were normal, we would’ve seen him. We would’ve seen each other.”

“Yeah,” Bev said softly. “You can’t blame yourself. None of us can, or should. Sometimes shit happens and it’s just not your fault.”

Bill looked down at the water at that, and nodded a little. Maybe it was something he needed to hear too, despite what he experienced down in the cavern.

Richie chewed the inside of his cheek for a second, cleaned his glasses in the water. “I uh…I saw Stan,” he said quietly.

They all turned to look at him.

“In the Deadlights,” he elaborated. “I don’t…I don’t know if it was real or not, but I saw him.”

There was silence, like they weren’t sure if they wanted to hear more or not. Beverly pretended to be focused on her hair, wringing the last traces of blood from it, and Bill wiped his face. Mike broke the silence though, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What happened?” he asked.

“I…I don’t know man,” Richie started. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We were at the Standpipe. I was a kid again, and so was Stan. He was Collecting Birds.” Thinking back on it was strange. It was less than two hours ago, but felt like ages ago, the memory already a little hazy, but leaving behind a sense of familiarity. He got kind of emotional thinking about it again, but carried on speaking. “We talked a bit. He said some things about birds, like he always does, you know? And then he…he said he was afraid of disappointing us. I told him that was bullshit, that he never could.”

“What happened next?” Eddie asked softly, leaning in a little closer.

“He warned me.”

No one seemed to quite understand that.

“W-what do you mean?” Bill asked, brows knit.

“He—He warned me that Eddie was about to get hurt. He told me not to let him go,” Richie replied, looking over at Eddie. The latter’s brown eyes filled with something warm, something not necessarily identifiable. Richie continued, gaze locking with those eyes. “I mean, he could’ve just been talking about…you know, like feelings or something but….I don’t know. It meant something more.”

“Feelings?” Mike said knowingly. He smiled a little.

Richie rolled his eyes, but let out a breath of laughter. He shook out his wet hair. “Yeah. Feelings. I’ve got them. For…for Eddie.”

Eddie put his face in his hands and shook his head in embarrassment, but sighed and dropped them. He didn’t quite want to talk about it so soon, but these were his friends, and it was okay. He had survived life-threatening situations, beat incredible odds. He didn’t have to be scared of this anymore. “I-I’ve got them too. For Richie.”

Beverly laughed, feeling nothing but adoration for her friends, who were so stubborn, so oblivious. She and the others had noticed from the start, and although words were never spoken, the truth of the matter was clear: They were crushing on each other. Hard.

“You two are precious. You act like we haven’t known that forever.”

“What do you mean?” Richie asked, raising a brow. He adjusted his glasses.

“Well it was kinda obvious,” Ben said. “You two were never exactly subtle.”

“Oh come on,” Eddie replied. “That’s bullshit! I mean, I didn’t know Rich liked me until like, yesterday.”

“That’s because you’re really blind,” Mike elaborated. “Like, really, really blind. He may as well have walked around with a flashing billboard.”

“Hey!” Richie pouted. “If you all knew this shit all along, how come nobody said anything? If I knew Eddie liked me back I would’ve done something about it forever ago.”

“W-w-well we didn’t exactly think it’d take you two s-so long on your own,” Bill said, and that was fair. It took them a _really, really_ long time, obviously.

Eddie could feel his face turning red a little, and he shook his head, feeling silly. “You guys are assholes,” he said, but there was no bite to it.

Beverly grinned at him. “Yeah, but we’re your assholes,” she replied.

“Yeah,” Richie said, but his eyes drifted over to Bill, somewhat melancholy. “Stan was our asshole too.”

It truly began to sink in, for all of them, that everything was over. There would be no more crazy visions or apparitions, no more twisted memories or threats. Things would be normal now, but not necessarily 100% better, because Stan was missing. His absence was palpable—there was a natural gap in their circle which belonged to him, and could never be filled again.

Bill had been through this type of thing before, but knew it wouldn’t be any easier than the first time. He imagined a funeral, he imagined the mourning crowd. He imagined Stanley’s poor wife, alone, feeling so grief-stricken, perhaps even more so than they were now, and the thought drove him to tears. His eyes stung, and looking around at the others, he knew they were thinking on similar veins.

Richie’s breath caught in his throat, and he grabbed Eddie’s hand and squeezed it, felt the need to hold on to the very thing Stanley implored him, helped him, to keep. He could never thank Stan for those few words in the Deadlights, and wished he could.

Emotions were a little high strung now that the initial relief of it all had passed, and reality was setting in. It seemed the window on their childhood was closing, or had already closed, and now they had to learn to _live_, truly live, and that was a new kind of scary which they couldn’t imagine, but that everyone encountered at some point. Most encountered it a lot earlier, at a natural pace, but this was sudden, overwhelming. It was like waking up one day in a new house, with new things and new people that you weren’t familiar with. But they were familiar with each other, and depended on each other now more than ever.

Eddie grabbed Bev’s hand, and soon enough their hands were all linked, and the tears began to fall: Tears for Stan, tears for the injuries they bore, and tears for themselves, and the versions of themselves which now only existed in their minds. It was a heavy revelation, one they weren’t sure they could fully explain to anyone who wasn’t there, one they weren’t sure they could fully understand themselves.

‘_Stan could explain it,’_ Mike thought. ‘_Stan could explain anything.’_

“I wish he could be here,” Richie said. “I—I wanted to stay with him, but I knew I couldn’t. He knew too. God it was so…it was so real. I wish I had hugged him.”

“I wish we all could have,” Mike agreed.

“Was it real?” Richie asked, looking between them all. His voice was more emotional, more pain-filled than the others had ever heard it. It was hard for them to hear him like this. He was always the jokester, always the one to lift others up. It was easy to forget that he struggled just as much as the rest of them, especially with something like this. Richie wanted the experience in the Deadlights to be true, wanted the comfort of knowing Stan was truly okay. “Really real?” he added.

“It was,” Ben decided, moving a little closer. “I believe it was.”

That was good enough for Richie. He nodded softly, and wiped a hand across his face to get rid of his tears. He tried to say something more, but couldn’t get the words out. That was alright. His friends, his _family_, all closed the distance, and wrapped their arms around him tightly, and he didn’t have to say anything else. They fit together perfectly, always had, and the fact that it didn’t change was comforting. They hoped Stan was proud of them, that he was looking on and smiling. Maybe he was.

They weren’t sure how long they stayed like that, all huddled together, but by the time they withdrew from the hug, Mike’s arm was stinging and Eddie’s face was hurting.

“Can we go to the hospital now?” Eddie complained, his good cheek resting on Richie’s shoulder.

“W-we should probably change first,” Bill suggested.

The group looked around at themselves: sopping wet, dirt-stained clothes, and dismal faces.

“Yeah. That’s fair,” Eddie decided.

The walk back to Neibolt Street and the ensuing drive back to the Derry Inn was mostly silent. They were really starting to get exhausted. By the time they got to the emergency room (they’d come up with a story about exploring near the Dump and falling victim to a rockslide—or, trashslide, rather. The nurses were doubtful, considering Eddie’s cheek wound, but as was the case in Derry, no one cared enough to really look into the details) Beverly was tired enough to nap on Ben’s shoulder, and Ben downed a coffee alongside Richie as they waited for Mike and Eddie, and for Bill’s knee to be treated. The cut on Richie’s face was small enough to garner only a band-aid, and besides aches and bruises, Bev and Ben didn’t need much treatment.

It was past sunset when they got back to the Inn for good, and no one quite wanted to leave the other. The innkeeper didn’t appear until late morning, and quite honestly, none of them were surprised. It was just another weird thing to add onto their long lists, their strange life experiences. No one minded the absence though.

They grabbed blankets and pillows that night and brought them into the rec room, lit a fire in the fireplace and knocked back a round of celebratory drinks from the bar, and shared stories until they fell asleep. It felt good. It felt right. They knew they had separate lives to return to, but that, and their responsibilities, could wait until morning. This night belonged to them, just like the Clubhouse out in the Barrens belonged to them, and the Quarry belonged to them, and all that was good about Derry belonged to them, in their memories.

There was a brief call from the Derry Police Station, asking if Mike knew anything about the corpse at the Library, but he had five sworn statements of alibi backing him up, and no one was implicated for the murder of Henry Bowers. It was assumed he broke out and went mad. The Losers found out he murdered two orderlies on his way out of Juniper Hill, and though they suspected Pennywise had a hand in that, it was incriminating enough. As ridiculous as it sounded, the police assumed he fell on his own axe, which couldn’t be farther from the truth, but was good enough for the Losers, and the Derry Townspeople. It was the only time Mike was truly thankful for Derry’s negligence.

Somewhere along the way, exhaustion caught up with them, and one by one they fell asleep.


	4. Morning After

When Eddie woke up in the morning, the first thing he noticed was the stinging in his cheek. The painkillers had worn off, and the stitched up gash was throbbing, made him let out a discontented groan. The rest of him felt okay though. His limbs were sore, and kind of stiff, but he was warm, and felt kind of drowsy, like he always did when he awoke without an alarm, which wasn’t often. It was horribly comfortable, and he felt like he never wanted to get up. His face was squished into a pillow, and there was a broad, steady warmth radiating from his side that took a second for his tired brain to identify.

Eddie realized his arm was slung around Richie’s waist, and the black-haired man was softly snoring, their legs tangled in a blanket. To his other side was Bill, his hair disheveled and a little bit of drool on the corner of his lips, but he looked kind of peaceful, as if the sleep he was getting was restful for the first time in ages.

Eddie watched him for just a moment, but was much more interested in his current position, being so close to Richie. It reminded him of time spent in the Clubhouse, sharing the hammock. There was one time when it was just him and Rich there—Bill’s dad had taken him to his office to try and interest him in the business, Stan had to practice reading for his Bar Mitzvah, Ben and Mike had chores to do, and Bev had been too sick to come out (Eddie realized now that she probably had horrible cramps that day, and he felt a mixture of sympathy and childlike revulsion) so it was just him and Richie, and that had sure been something. For one, there wasn’t really an argument about sharing the hammock. It just sort of…_happened_. Richie turned on his little radio that hung behind the hammock on a hook, popped in a cassette. Some British band—_The Smiths_, if Eddie remembered correctly, played while they read comic books.

He remembered berating Richie for blowing cigarette smoke right in his face, but couldn’t complain too much, because Richie looked great smoking. Some people looked really gross smoking; either their faces were pinched or glowering, or their mouth made a weird shape exhaling or inhaling, or there was the wild look of an addiction in their eyes, a ravenous hunger for nicotine. When Richie and Bev smoked though, Eddie didn’t see any of that. They were beautiful smoking. They made it look like art, and it made Eddie kind of jealous, but he knew he could never do what they did.

For one, the thought of willingly consuming anything that could cause cancer was enough to make him shudder, and two, the smell was less than appealing. He’d learned to tolerate it over the course of his friendship with Richie, but he preferred fresh air to the smell of cigarettes. Actually, his favorite scent was a mixture of Citrus and Sandalwood, after the familiar and safe mixture of Camphor water, but that could hardly be considered normal, and he didn’t want to think about it anymore, now that he had decided to move on from his placebo-filled life.

Instead he thought about the way Richie sang along to the music, did his best air-guitar impression and danced around the Clubhouse with a cigarette in his mouth, his hair hanging over his eyes. He took his glasses off at some point, and although he looked absurd squinting around and trying not to bump into anything, it made Eddie’s heart rate jump, and he hid his nervous laughter behind a comic book and a silly insult. Richie had smiled at him so brightly that afternoon, laughed loud enough for the sound to drift out of the Clubhouse and around the Barrens, and came up with a thousand stupid jokes, some of them in different voices, which would have the pleasure of being main points of his comedy acts later on.

Thinking back on all of that now made Eddie even more reluctant to get up. Getting up meant returning to the real world, meant solving brand new problems that he wanted nothing to do with. He wanted to stay here, with his friends, and had no desire to even consider things like work or travel, or worse, his marriage. Something had to be done about that, and it wouldn’t be a nice experience. He could already imagine what Myra would say, what she would do when she found out he was leaving her, and the thought terrified him a little. But he’d survived a lot, and could survive this too. He wouldn’t be alone either, and that gave him comfort. He wasn’t sure how long it would all take to get sorted out, but didn’t want to waste any more time, any more years. He didn’t want to be a prisoner anymore.

Reluctantly, Eddie withdrew his arm from around Richie and sat up. Ben was on the opposite side of their little sleep circle, and he sensed the movement, heard Eddie’s little exhale. It was surprising, given the amount of vodka he drank the night before, but Ben had a dog, so he was used to getting up early, and was a light sleeper. He rubbed his eyes, squinted at Eddie and whispered a “Hey.”

“Hey,” Eddie replied, brushing a hand through his messed up hair. A little headache was setting in alongside his cheek pain, but that was nothing a few pills couldn’t fix. He pursed his lips, and his brows knit, and it was clear to Ben that he was thinking something over.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked softly.

Eddie shrugged. “Just…scared, I guess,” he replied.

“Scared of what?” Ben sat up, concern crossing his features. He had to pull his arm out from under Beverly, and he did so with care so she didn’t wake up.

“Going home,” Eddie admitted. “I uh… I’m gonna get a divorce,” he said. The tone of his voice was timid but the conviction was there. This wasn’t something he was considering. It was a definite decision.

“Wow,” Ben said. “What are you gonna do then?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie replied. “I don’t—I don’t know.” He looked over at Richie, who’d turned a little in his sleep to take up more space now that Eddie had sat up. Before this mess really started, he and Richie agreed to move forward together, but that had been said sort of in the heat of the moment, when they were euphoric and not thinking straight, and now some actual planning had to be done. His adventurous streak was over for the moment—he needed some easy, logical situations to power the meter back up. He really needed to make a plan with Richie, needed a clear direction to move in.

“Are you and Richie together now?” Ben asked, looking between the two of them.

“Not—I mean, n-n-not officially, but I think—I think we’re gonna be. I hope we’re gonna be.” Eddie let out a nervous little laugh, felt his cheeks heat up a bit at the prospect of it. He really wanted that. He really wanted to be with Richie. Whatever roadblocks he’d have to suffer in the coming weeks would be worth it, he was sure.

“I like that,” Ben replied, smiling a little. “You two belong together.”

“What about you and Bev?” Eddie wondered, nodding his head in the direction of their sleeping friend. “Are you two leaving together?”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “Her husband beats her, treats her like shit. The fashion business is in her name too, not his. He just mooches off of her. She’s divorcing his ass, getting rid of him. He’s done hurting her.”

“God, I can’t imagine what she must’ve gone through. Poor Bev,” Eddie replied with a soft sigh. “She’ll be a lot happier without him, and being with you instead.”

“I hope so,” Ben exhaled a laugh. “To be honest I’m kind of scared too.”

“W-w-who’s scared of w-w-what?” Bill interjected, his stuttering made worse by his sleepiness. His arm was covering his face and he stretched, let out a sigh. He’d only heard a little bit, but it was enough to get him interested and wake him up. He was tempted to try and go back to sleep, but there were things to do, and he felt guilty sleeping in too long.

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie said with a shrug. He didn’t really wanna get into it.

Bill accepted that without much protest, and shrugged. He wasn’t one to force them to say something unless it was really important. Sometimes things were best kept private. Instead of prodding, he slowly got to his feet, brushed back his bangs and exhaled. “I’m gonna go s-s-shower and change.”

Bill was heading out that afternoon. He wasn’t sure exactly what was awaiting him back in L.A. Either he could be finishing his movie, and things would be alright with his wife, or Audra was planning on kicking him to the curb, and he was being booted off of his own project. He wasn’t sure which option he preferred; he couldn’t deny that he was a different person than a few days ago, than before Mike’s phone call. Maybe it wasn’t possible to carry on like he had been. Maybe things would stay the same, or maybe there was a huge tide of change on the horizon and he didn’t know it yet. Either way, Bill preferred to face the music early on, always had, so he didn’t plan on lingering in Derry too long.

Ben and Eddie nodded, and Bill trudged up the stairs to his rented room, ready to face the day with determination, like he faced every situation. That much didn’t change over the years, and neither Ben nor Eddie thought it ever would. They liked that about Big Bill. They watched him go up the stairs in silence, affection clear in their eyes.

“I should probably shower too,” Ben said after a moment. “I think there’s still sand from the Quarry behind my ears,” he joked.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed, a little smile on his lips. “I think I’ll just lay down a little longer.”

That was a bit of a lie though. When Ben left, Eddie turned to Richie, watched him for a moment. He looked younger when asleep. Beneath the wrinkles, Eddie could see the Richie Tozier he met when he was little, who he undeniably fell in love with. The revelation was still crazy to him, even after all this time, and it took Eddie a minute to settle his rapidly beating heart. After taking in his peaceful, sleepy face, Eddie gently shook Richie on the shoulder to try and wake him up. Richie was a heavy sleeper though, Eddie should’ve remembered from lazy afternoons at the Barrens, or the one sleepover at Stan’s house, and it would take a lot more than a light nudge to get him to wake up.

“Rich,” Eddie whispered with urgency, shaking his shoulder a little more vigorously now. “Wake the fuck up.”

Richie mumbled something incoherent and shifted a little, his brows tugged down.

Eddie didn’t exactly want to wake Beverly and Mike, but couldn’t wait any longer to talk things over with Richie. He needed to know what the plan was, needed to shake off some of the slowly mounting anxiety he had. He could feel it deep in his chest, could feel the way it made his lungs feel tight. He didn’t even have an inhaler anymore. How was he to cope without his placebo?

‘_At least it’s normal anxiety,’_ he thought. ‘_Not A-Creepy-Interdimensional-Killer-Clown-Is-Coming-After-Me Anxiety.’_

He was truly relieved to be rid of that feeling forever.

He really wanted Richie to wake up though, and his steady shaking wasn’t getting the job done. Eddie let out a huff of annoyance. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, eyes drifting between Mike and Bev’s sleeping forms, checking that his outburst hadn’t been too loud. Eddie frowned a little, and grabbed his pillow.

He took a breath, and whacked Richie over the head with it.

“Shit!” Richie hissed, jerking awake at the impact. He tried to rub his eyes but one of his arms was asleep, and his hand fell limply against his face and smacked him in the nose. Richie groaned in distress. His head was pounding and he was way too fucking tired, and his back was _sore_, but someone obviously wanted his attention.

“….The fuck, man?” he whined, opening his eyes and squinting up at the guilty party.

Eddie peered down at him expectantly, gripping the pillow in his lap. “We gotta talk,” he explained.

Richie frowned. “That can’t wait until—“

He reached for his phone, and held it up to his face. Richie squinted at his lockscreen. It was around 9am.

“—noon or something? I’m fuckin’ tired, Eds,” he complained.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You’ve slept long enough,” he countered. “And I…I just wanna know what’s going on,” he said. “Like…what the plan is.”

“The plan?” Richie wondered. It took him a moment, but he understood. “Oh.” He sat up, reached up towards the nearby coffee table and grabbed his glasses. He could feel his cheeks grow a little warmer as reality set in. They’d made plans—well, not plans really, but a promise at least, before they’d gone back to Neibolt. He considered it a promise. All he knew was: he didn’t want to let Eddie go, couldn’t let Eddie go. He needed to keep the promise to himself, and to Stan.

Richie shoved his glasses on, blinked a few times, and looked over at Eddie thoughtfully.

“Right. So like…did you wanna go home? We can get things settled there, and then you could…you could—I mean, if you wanted, you could—you could come live with me. Out in California. I mean, I’d have to get the place cleaned professionally before you’d ever agree to set foot in it, cuz’ you’d probably throw a bitch fit and gag all over the place, like you always complained about my room, which wasn’t that bad by the way, but I mean—t-that doesn’t matter really. You’d really like it there, when it’s all clean. The beach is like, half an hour away and it’s always warm and sunny—no fuckin’ snow, which is _great_, and I dunno, I just…I think you’d kinda like it. If you came with me. And uh…”

Richie was rambling, and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop. He wanted to lay it all out, get everything squared away that he was thinking of before Eddie could change his mind. Richie was a little scared, honestly, that they had just been riding the high of reuniting, that nothing would come of this after all. He desperately hoped for the opposite. He’d never really thought about marriage or true long-term relationships, but knew that he wanted Eddie, for fucking ever if possible, and the start of that would be a relationship. He just didn’t know the best way to start this one. There was weight to it, and his proposition, that had thus far been absent in his romantic life. He really didn’t wanna fuck things up.

“What about your job? Could you get transferred? I wouldn’t want you to be out of a job. And divorce stuff is expensive right? I’m sorry—you are getting divorced, right? I don’t wanna assume but it kinda sounds like your wife sucks, and as cool as it sounds to be a Homewrecker, I don’t wanna be your secret boyfriend, I wanna be your…” Richie drifted off, finally regaining control over his tongue.

He finished quietly with “regular boyfriend,” and snuck a sideways glance at Eddie, out of breath. The concept made his heart jump a little (a lot) and he loved the way it sounded. Eddie Kaspbrak: Richie’s boyfriend. He wanted that, so bad.

Eddie, for his part, wanted that too. He had wanted that for a long time, and never expected to actually get it. Richie made all good points—it did sound nice, the thought of going out West, and living with him. Maybe he could get transferred, but even if he couldn’t, it wouldn’t matter. Eddie was good enough at his job that finding a position with another company wouldn’t be too hard.

Getting a divorce…well, that would be harder. He didn’t want to hurt Myra’s feelings particularly, just like he never wanted to hurt his mother’s, but it may have to be done. He just couldn’t live a lie anymore, couldn’t feel trapped and miserable anymore. He deserved better than that, and reuniting with his friends had shown him that. Richie’s rambling made him feel a little nervous, but it was a good nervous—made his stomach flutter. Eddie smiled a little, thought things over.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I wanna be with you. I’m gonna get a divorce. I just… Hell, it’s gonna be fucking stressful.”

“Hey, I’m here for you, man,” Richie replied, reaching out and grabbing Eddie’s hand. “Maybe you don’t have to go home right away. Maybe we can take a few days somewhere, make a trip out of it. Fuck that’s kinda morbid, huh? A cheery little road trip toasting the death of your marriage.”

Eddie frowned at that, his face twisting in disgust. “Fuck you, man.”

“Sorry! Sorry. That was in poor taste.”

“Well, we don’t call you Trashmouth for nothing,” Eddie conceded. He smiled a little.

“That’s my name! Don’t wear it out, Eddie my love,” Richie replied, squeezing Eddie’s hand.

The old nickname suddenly had new context, and it made Eddie look away to hide his pleased smile.

“I-I’m gonna go take a shower, and get ready,” Eddie said. “You should too.”

“Yes please,” Bev muttered suddenly, voice muffled by her pillow. “I’m trying to sleep. I don’t wanna listen to your flirting anymore.” She had of course, heard most of the conversation, but Bev wasn’t one to interrupt something so important, so she kept her mouth shut. It was endearing, listening to them like this. It was the same as always, but at the same time, completely new, completely different. There was a side of Eddie, and Richie, that she had never seen, that maybe no one else had ever seen, and it seemed the two would share those sides with each other now. Beverly was glad for them.

Her sudden interruption scared the shit out of them though, and both visibly jumped, dropped their linked hands, like they were caught cheating on a test, or doing something they weren’t supposed to.

“Fucking shit, Bev,” Richie gasped, shifting the collar of his shirt. “Don’t be such a dick.”

“I think you’re being the dick here, Tozier,” Mike said from his other side, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “You couldn’t take your motor mouth somewhere else?” he joked.

“Man, fuck you guys,” Richie laughed.

“I think that’s Eddie’s job,” Bev jabbed back, raising a brow suggestively.

“Oh my _god_!” Eddie huffed, mortified. He scrambled to his feet, dropped his pillow where he had been sitting. “T-that’s it. I-I’m going upstairs. Don’t say shit like that ever again, fuckin’ assholes,” he complained, arms raised defensively. He didn’t mean it though, and they knew it, smiled at how riled up he got, like usual.

Richie, for all his raunchiness, had the gall to blush at the comment though, and rolled his eyes at his friends. “Beep Beep, Beverly,” he said, watching Eddie jog up the stairs. It was funny being on the opposite side of that phrase. He wasn’t sure if he enjoyed it or not.

“Alright, alright. I won’t say anything else,” Bev replied, standing up. “But seriously, I’m happy for you two.”

“Thanks Bev,” Richie said. “Got time for a quick smoke after we get ready and eat breakfast?”

“You got it, Tozier,” Beverly Marsh replied, giving him a smile as she headed up the stairs.

“So,” Mike began. “Where should we go for breakfast?”


	5. Goodbye and Hello

They ended up going to an old pancake diner on the other end of town. It’d been open since the 50s, and had twenty different kinds of pancakes and breakfast plates. Eddie had a bit of a sweet tooth, always did, and ordered a stack of pancakes _covered_ in sprinkles and chocolate sauce, with a peak of whipped cream higher than Mt. Bigelow on the other side of Maine, and tore into it with enthusiasm, ignoring the stinging in his cheek as best as he could. He was handling the wound pretty well, thanks to some strong prescription pain pills.

Richie naturally went for the weirdest thing on the menu, which was a stack dyed green and purple, and smothered in grape syrup. He ended up hating it and settled for a perfectly normal stack instead. Bill warned him about his selection, but Richie had ignored his advice, as usual, and paid the price. The group made fun of him for it.

The Losers lingered at breakfast, knowing their time together was coming to an end, at least for a little while. It was extremely bitter-sweet. They made plans to visit each other as soon as possible, after things were sorted out and their lives returned to normal.

Mike had stopped briefly at the library when they left the inn to find his old camera, and brought it with him to the diner. The camera was a little Polaroid which he used his allowance to buy about a month before he met the others in ‘89. It was a little banged up from the day of the Rock Fight, but captured many memories over that summer. Mike loved taking pictures—he had a lot of them, of Derry, and his friends, and they were all lovingly stored in a big leather-bound photo album. He looked at it a lot through the years, particularly whenever he thought about calling them all back, but always kept his distance.

He used the camera to take a group photo of them in the parking lot now, standing around Richie’s car. It may have been his favorite photo yet—he would compare it later on to one they took down at the train yard, maybe three days after they met.

Nobody wanted to leave, but they had to. It was the same feeling as the day they made their oath—watching the sun slowly drift across the sky, thinking of all they had been through and wondering what on earth would happen next. There was a sense that things were changing entirely, that their little bubble had been broken, and that they had to return to their own corners, so to speak.

Saying goodbye was hard. Ben and Beverly left first, together in his rental car after half an hour lingering in the parking lot. They had a flight to catch, and promised to visit as soon as possible.

Bill opted for driving back to L.A instead of flying—he’d gotten a less-than-happy phone call from Audra and suddenly getting home quickly wasn’t a priority anymore, and he left shortly after, somehow managing to fit Silver in the back of his car. The big bike took up the entire backseat, and was shoved in at an angle that obscured most of his rearview, but Bill was adamant he could handle it. No one was quite sure how he’d get it out again, but it was Bill; he’d find a way.

Mike left next. He actually had to work that afternoon, and had some cleaning up to do now that the police had left the library and the business with Bowers was handled. When he got home, he made the decision to move out of Derry as soon as possible. His job was done here, and he was looking forward to new adventures.

That left Richie and Eddie, who unfortunately had two cars, and a long way to go. Eddie had a brief phone call with his wife before breakfast, letting her know that he was leaving her, and that he’d be at their apartment in a few days to collect his things. Myra had a cow, naturally, but Eddie found the strength to simply hang up before he got overwhelmed, and turned off his phone at breakfast, which the Losers all applauded. Richie and Eddie would take their time driving there, and then they’d make their way across the country, to stay at Richie’s. The company Eddie worked for didn’t even garner a call—he left an email, putting in his two weeks. He wanted to start over completely in a way. Maybe he’d even try a new career. Eddie was proud of himself for taking the first steps, and Richie thought he was extremely brave for it.

It kind of sucked driving in separate vehicles, after spending the last few days in such close proximity. Eddie’s car felt too big, too empty without Rich and the other Losers there. He found himself kind of sad, leaving Derry, despite all that had happened. In a way it would always be his home. It would always be _their_ home, and somehow all the bad that happened there didn’t outweigh the good anymore. He never expected to look back on Derry, Maine with a sense of comfort, but here he was, his eyes a little misty as he drove down Kansas street for the last time, as he passed the pharmacy and the old theater and the little shops they passed a hundred, a thousand times as kids.

Eddie was deep in thought when he spotted Richie, a few cars ahead of him on the road, pulling over. They were almost out of the Derry limits, near the Kissing Bridge. The entrance to the Barrens was around here too.

Eddie didn’t hesitate to pull over. He was a little annoyed, though. It was already almost 3pm and if they wanted to beat the traffic, they’d have to hurry it up. The brunet sighed and hopped out of his car, shut the door behind him. “If you’re taking a piss or something, I-I’m gonna be pretty mad—I told you to go back at the diner, dipshit!” he scolded.

Richie wasn’t taking a piss though. He was leaning against his car, looking a little ways down the road, his brows furrowed intensely, like he was trying to solve a math problem. Eddie wasn’t sure what that look meant, and he felt the fear creeping into his stomach, but tried to squish it down.

Richie rolled his eyes at the complaint, and straightened his jacket a little. He obviously had serious matters to discuss. “Pipe down, Spaghetti Man, and come here,” he said, holding out his hand for Eddie to take.

Eddie squinted at him suspiciously, and looked around once, a habit which he would have to learn to break, and took his hand. Richie’s hand was too warm, and a little sweaty, which Eddie grimaced at, but he didn’t drop it. Looking closer he could see the red gathering on Richie’s cheeks, the way his blue eyes were a little wider than usual, like he was nervous. What the hell did he have to be nervous about? That just made Eddie nervous too, and he stared down at his feet as they walked through the grass near the old fence posts.

Like most of Derry, the Kissing Bridge had barely changed. The old wood panels were painted over, but the layers of chipped paint stuck out beneath them. In a way, the history of Derry was visible right here, at the edge of town, kind of like a gate, a border between the world of Derry and the rest of the country. Names and letters and numbers were carved throughout the length of the covered bridge, and looking closely now, Eddie could see some dotting the fence they were walking along. He wondered why he’d never taken notice before. He must have gone this way a billion times. Eddie began to have an inkling of what was going on though, of why they were here, and it made his heart beat faster.

Richie was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked, which only confirmed Eddie’s suspicions. At some point, the comedian stopped in his tracks, and Eddie looked up at him. “Rich?” he said softly.

“Just—Just look,” Richie replied, gesturing down at the fence.

There, scratched into the old, weather-stained wood, were two letters and a little plus sign, ‘R + E’, carved in the summer of ’89 with a pocket-knife that Richie’d stolen from his dad.

Eddie peered down at them in confusion at first, and then recognition—even carved into wood, he recognized the handwriting. His breath caught in his throat, and he stared down at the letters in disbelief.

Richie was frozen at his side, eyes flitting between Eddie and the fence, feeling like he was gonna throw up _again_. He was starting to think feeling nauseous was going to be a daily occurrence. For a second he almost regretted even bringing this up, but he had to. He needed Eddie to see this.

“Did…did you….?” Eddie began, but he didn’t have to ask. He _knew_. He knew looking at those letters that Richie had put them there. They could’ve been made by someone else, a Roger and Elise, or Rachel and Eric, but Eddie _knew_ they stood for Richie and Eddie, and that made him feel some type of way.

“_When_ did you…?” he rephrased his question.

“Two days after you broke your arm,” Richie replied, watching Eddie squat down, his fingers gently caressing the carved surface. Richie’s fists clenched and unclenched nervously in his jacket pockets, his heart pounding in his chest. This reminded him of showing his report-card to his parents, desperately hoping they’d be satisfied, that things would be okay. Richie’d never shown this to anyone, never mentioned it to anyone. It was his biggest secret, one that he was now sharing with the very source of it.

“I…I was at the Arcade, just by myself—Bill punched me that day, you know that? The day we went to Neibolt? We were standing outside of your house, right after your mom took you to the Hospital. Me and Bill got into it pretty bad, and then we all split, and suddenly I was hanging out by myself. I tried visiting you, but your mom told me to buzz off, and I didn’t really have a choice.”

Richie sighed, squatting down beside Eddie now. He tugged at some tufts of grass absentmindedly, thinking a moment, trying to figure out how to say it all.

“What happened?” Eddie asked, his heart stuck in his throat. He remembered the day they went into Neibolt, but the ensuing days were vague for him, just an imprint of loneliness and misery, locked up in his house with only his mother for company, exaggerating his injuries, babying him, _smothering_ him. He was miserable those two weeks, all alone, until he’d gotten the phone call that Bev was taken, and they all came together again. None of them really talked about those days. There wasn’t really time to. They had to spring into action, and then summer was pretty much over. But Eddie was interested in whatever Richie had to say now, wanted to know what brought this on.

“I was playing with this guy at the Arcade, and…and I was thinking about you, honestly. I was thinking what it’d be like, if he was you, if it was the two of us there, huddled together. I missed you, a lot. It was just a few days, but I missed you.”

Eddie smiled a little at that, his brown eyes focused and reverent.

“Well Bowers and his shits showed up, and they started yelling at me, called me a fag in front of the whole arcade. Everyone stared at me, hated me, and he told me to get the fuck out, so I did. I ended up crying—I nearly fell on my fucking face because the tears were flowing so bad, and after a good ol’ visit from Pennywise near the park, I came out this way, was gonna go down to the Clubhouse and smoke a pack to make myself feel better, but then I started thinking.”

Laying it all out like this was surprisingly easy, despite the way his stomach fluttered. He’d never said any of this, and didn’t expect to, but it felt right, saying it all, admitting it all. Eddie, for his part, listened intently, didn’t laugh or make fun (not that he ever would in a million years) and it gave Richie the courage he needed to finish his story.

“I started thinking about you—about us. I thought about why the fuck Bowers upset me so bad. I mean, they used to call us the worst shit. What made it so different now? What changed? By the time I got my bike down here I figured it out. I fuckin’ loved you, Eds. I really did—really do. It hit me like a real slap in the face. I mean, it all made sense all of a sudden, and that was really fucking overwhelming. Those days without you, I was fucking miserable. I missed the others too, but I missed you differently. The way I missed you was special, and I knew it. I didn’t know what to say or do. Who the hell could I tell? I didn’t…I mean, I know the others wouldn’t say anything, but it was still too hard. It was a secret, had to stay a secret. I didn’t know if you’d ever even feel the same way, but I hoped. I was so fired up, so just…I don’t know, _distraught_, that I kneeled down and did _that_. It was like a little promise. I kind of hoped you’d see it, that maybe you felt the same way and you’d just _know_, that you’d come rushing over and tell me you loved me too.”

Eddie was on the verge of tears. His heart felt so full, like it never had before, and he felt so perfectly loved for the first time in his life, felt a taste of that euphoria that took over for microseconds on days spent together as kids. He wondered suddenly if he could feel it permanently, if Richie was the key to it all along. Knowing that Richie felt so strongly about him, knowing that he’d carved their initials by the Kissing Bridge, was enough to make him fall in love all over again. His divorce couldn’t come quick enough.

“I love you,” he said, his voice coming out a little more emotional than he wanted it to. Eddie stood up, and pulled Richie up by the hand alongside him. “I fuckin’ love you so much, Rich. I always did.” He noticed he really was crying now, and let out a laugh, brushed away his tears.

Richie was in a similar state. He’d cried far too much in the last few days, but this was good crying, happy crying, and he knew that he had a lot to look forward to. “I love you too, Eds,” he replied, and they hugged, his face buried in the crook of Eddie’s neck, feeling warm and safe and perfect, like everything was finally right with the world.

“I can’t believe you did this, you’re such a fucking sap,” Eddie joked, his voice muffled by Richie’s shoulder. He linked his hands behind Richie, closed his eyes, and let himself revel in the moment for a little while.

“_Your_ sap,” Richie countered, pulling back after a few seconds. He wiped the tears from Eddie’s good cheek, gently cupped his face.

“You’re right. My sap. Oh god, what the fuck have I gotten myself into? Richie Trashmouth Tozier is my boyfriend,” Eddie replied, grinning up at him.

“How do you think I feel? Eddie Wheezy Kaspbrak is mine,” Richie teased, sliding his arms down to pull Eddie closer by the waist.

“What a couple of Losers,” Eddie sighed.

“Yeah,” Richie mused, his blue eyes alight with adoration. “We sure fucking are.”

He didn’t need to say anything else; neither of them did. Eddie pushed up on his toes and Richie leaned down a little, and their lips met. It was a long, sweet kiss, there at the edge of the Kissing Bridge, and marked the ending of a long, difficult chapter in their lives. But more importantly, it marked the start of a new chapter, a chapter all their own, to write as they saw fit.

Neither knew what the future held exactly. There were no doubt challenges on the horizon, new monsters they had to face, but that was okay, because they would be facing them together. Richie and Eddie were together, and that was all that mattered.

They planned on never leaving each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats, you made it! Please leave your thoughts. I hope this was satisfying.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! Please comment with your favorite part or any thoughts you have! I'd love to discuss this fic, and the one before it.


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